“Do you guys ever think about dying?” Or, what to play at my wake
A pseudo-elegy, pre-eulogy with a playlist from your resident Black Cat with gallows humor
My sister tells me that I present as a Golden Retriever, but I am actually a Black Cat.
This is Gen Z speak for me being bubbly bubblegum on the outside (Libra rising) but actually Dark and Twisty black licorice on the inside (Scorpio moon). I suppose my Gemini sun allows for both to be true—the duality of it all. This duality creates a rich, dynamic inner life, especially emotionally—a topic on which I have recently ruminated.
In all honesty, my sister nailed it. My internal state has a status quo that is slightly morbid, but I am perpetually looking on the bright side. Seemingly at odds, I am always finding silver linings from the underworld. A colleague of mine, who was an emergency veterinarian for three decades, once told me that I would fit in well in that environment because of my “gallows humor.” Touché, doc, touché.
I am obsessed with the gothic and the taboo, but I easily project a mainstream smiling goofball. Perhaps a more apt depiction of me: Wednesday Addams wrapped in Greta Gerwig’s Barbie. A nightmare dressed like a daydream. I’m just dying…to dance.
Unrelated (but I promise I’m going somewhere with this), my favorite song is Cruel Summer.1 In my not-so-humble opinion, the bridge in Cruel Summer is sweet sweet PERFECTION. And, this song is even more delightful and perfect in the Eras Tour set. Taylor quite literally struts down the stage during the bridge, and ever since seeing this strut live last summer, a spirit takes over my body when I hear this song. I, too, must strut to the bridge of Cruel Summer while screaming for whatever it’s worth: I’mdrunkinthebackofthecarandI’mcryinglikeababycominghomefromthebaraahhoohh. The world is but a stage, or whatever.
On a group chat recently, a friend shared a video of a couple rocking out to Cruel Summer. In response to the video, I hit the group chat with: “Play it at my wake; weekend at Bernie’s me down a runway in the cemetery.” I got a laugh, but I wasn’t actually joking. Seriously, do you guys ever think about dying??? I certainly do.
So while we’re on the subject, I wrote a poem called Play It At My Wake because I couldn’t stop thinking about the exchange. (Keep scrolling for the poem.) I also made a playlist for you because I commit to the bit.
And, I’m dying to know: What’s on your wake playlist?
Play It At My Wake
"Play it at my wake," it says. A pause. They gather 'round. A season of death found with instructions? Bossy abounds! And, from beyond resounds: Play it at my wake! With a pair of shades, prop me up for me to see—a Weekend at Cassie's. A suspension of disbelief— a hopeful relief, a reverie. Play it at my wake. Like Monday, death rings true in black and blue. No cure but The Cure: Pretend it's Friday. We rise above in truth together in love. Play it at my wake, in spring, you belong in a boat out at sea. Or maybe among the Wildflowers where you see tears on petals, cool grass under bare feet. Somewhere you feel free. Play it at my wake, enter summer, Cruel Summer, clear the way for the girls—they shimmer and strut with swagger. A fever dream high in breakable heaven forever. Play it at my wake. Paper Bag blaring, an autumn afternoon. Foliage glaring, on eyes black-lined. Swearing or something like that. She sighs, All in your head? So was everything in mine. Play it at my wake. I'm cold as hell. Silver Springs is just an oasis fling for your white witch—a farewell. I plead never get away from the sound: I sway, the woman who loves you. Play it at my wake to break the grey beguile. All for a bittersweet smile. In latex red, she says, Oops...I did it again. But I am only in your head, laugh and release instead.
You were warned I am a Swiftie! Cruel Summer is my favorite song as of right now. Superlatives are hard for me, as my opinion on “best” or “my favorite” are mood and era based so a lot of them are always changing. The wake playlist has many of my rotating favorites.